Dream of Me/Believe in Me

thinking this had turned out to be even easier than he'd hoped—save, of course, for the complication of the woman herself and her refusal to be what he expected.
    C YMBRA LAY STILL FOR SEVERAL MOMENTS, UNMOV -ing but for the rapid rise and fall of her shallow breathing. The molten heat of terror had fled, replaced by paralyzing cold that owed only a little to the cool night air and her thin garment. She had never been so frightened in her life. Or so angry.
    Gratefully, she concentrated on the anger. As she sat up, her hair caught beneath her and tugged her scalp sharply. The small pain was welcome, further focusing her thoughts.
    How dare they? How
dare
they? To penetrate Holyhood by trickery, take her from her very own chamber, and depart with contemptuous ease. What manner of men did such a thing?
    No, not men. Man. She did not doubt for a moment that the leader was responsible, the very same man who had told her she would not be harmed.
    Her own stupidity shamed her. Sir Derward was a vain and brutal man whose mind was darkly twisted, redeemed only by the instinct for self-preservation that had kept him from ever crossing her. Her opinion of him had not changed but she recognized now that it had blinded her to even the possibility that he might, on some occasion, be right.
    How many lay dead in Holyhood because of her arrogant foolishness? She thought of the guards on the walls and near the cell, and her eyes filled with tears. Hastily, she rubbed them away. Crying would avail her nothing. With each passing moment she felt the powerful surge of thevessel moving farther and farther away from Holyhood. From the only safety she had ever known and from the people she must now, more than ever, succor.
    Quickly, she stood. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness in the hold. Chinks in the deck above admitted a tiny amount of light, just enough for her to make out the shadow of the ladder leading above. She climbed it swiftly, holding up her bed robe so that she would not trip. The hatch was closed. She took a deep breath and pressed both her hands against it.
    Mercifully, it gave readily and without a sound. She spared a moment for the sour thought that the Viking war ship was kept in better repair than Holyhood's defenses. Then the cool night air touched her and she thought of nothing at all save escape.
    The same thought was on Wolf's mind. He had taken his place at the oars and was pulling along with the other men, the powerful muscles of his back and shoulders flexing rhythmically. The sea was calm, the wind with them. Very soon they would be beyond even the chance of pursuit.
    Not that it was likely anyone would try. No doubt Holyhood slumbered still. Their escape wouldn't be discovered until morning, when it would be too late to do anything—except to inform the Lord Hawk that his sister was gone.
    Wolf smiled, imagining the reaction that would earn. At the very least, the Hawk would rage at being so contemptuously defied. If he truly cared for his sister, he would be rightly tormented by thoughts of her fate. Sir Derward's remaining days on earth were likely to be extremely unpleasant.
    He felt no regret at that as he put all such considerations aside and concentrated on the task at hand. Or at least he tried to. Thoughts of the lady below intruded despite his best efforts to ignore them. Her beauty stillstunned him even as the mystery she presented itched at his mind. Soon enough, he determined, she would yield to him and then he would have the true measure of her.
    For the moment, he decided, it was good that she was afraid. It would make her more pliable, more easily bent to his hand. In time, he would reassure her that her fate would not be quite so dire as she feared. She was bound to be thankful for that. He could think of all sorts of ways she could show her gratitude.
    He was smiling again, a feral smile of purely male anticipation, when a slight motion on deck caught his eye. He stared, first uncomprehendingly, then in disbelief, as the hatch slowly rose.
    Wolf stopped rowing. Paired with him, old Olaf glanced over to see what was wrong. His gaze followed Wolf's and his single good eye widened but he did not slow his pace. Nor did any of the other men who saw what was happening. They kept right on rowing, although more than a few felt a moment's relief that the lady wasn't their problem.
    Wolf sat back, his hands lying loose on the oar, and watched. A head appeared where the hatch had been, followed